


Not Cheating

by marsprince



Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Online Relationship, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Skype, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 07:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12164565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marsprince/pseuds/marsprince
Summary: Archie's been keeping up with Reggie while he's in France for the Holidays. They've, uh, gotten pretty close.





	Not Cheating

It’s not cheating, Archie reminds himself. It’s not cheating because he doesn’t have anyone to cheat on; he and Betty have been separated for months, but—but they’re friends now, and it’s good. It’s good. And—And it’s also not cheating because the other person is hours away, a sea away, but also just a Skype call away. Also this is definitely, definitely not cheating, because the other person on the line is Reggie Mantle.

So, not cheating. Really, it isn’t.

…But, God, when Archie’s screen is lit up to Reggie’s lips, his chin, the rest of his face cut off from view, and his chest, naked save for the cord for black earbuds, and, fuck, his cock in hand, and it really does feel like cheating, just a little bit.

"Fuck," Reggie’s murmuring, his voice a tinge distorted in Archie’s headphones. Archie watches, jaw more than a little slack, as Reggie’s hand flies over his cock too quickly for the camera, his hips making aborted thrusts into his fist, and—Jesus fuck—this is hot. This is _I-probably-shouldn’t-touch-my-dick-right-now-or-this-is-going-to-end-pretty-quickly_ hot. “Mmmh, fuck, Andrews."

"You’re thinking about me?" Archie whispers, breath hitched, because that has to be crossing into cheating territory.

Reggie cracks an eye open, stops his hand. For a second, that old familiar Reggie shines through in an irritated growl, but then it melds into something foreign, something desperate, something that has Archie grabbing for his dick, a bulge in his jeans.

"Shut up. Take your pants off." Reggie snarls. “Now."

Fuck. No need to tell him twice.

Archie’s chair creaks as he scrambles for the button of his jeans, the zipper. But it’s hard when Reggie looks like that, head cocked and a hand working his dick with slow pulls. There’s no scent here, no sound besides the static in his ears, and what Archie would do to be there now, there in Paris, in Reggie’s hotel bedroom at 3am, and slurp around the nipple Reggie’s hand reaches for.

He shoves the waistband of his boxers under his balls and his cock pings free, damp and red. He knows he doesn’t have the best webcam, but he hopes Reggie can see it clear enough, can see how fucking wet it is for him, and hopes that maybe some day will come that Reggie’ll see it real close up.

It’s a dumb, embarrassing thought, one that he keeps to himself when he spits into his hand, wraps it ‘round his cock, and looks back at Reggie. But Reggie looks hungry for it, maybe if Archie squints, so maybe he’ll share the thought. One day.

"Come on, Arch," Reggie moans, hand on an upstroke on his cock. “Hurry up."

"What—" Archie swipes his thumb, just under the mushroom head, and stills. “Fuck—What do you want me to do?"

Reggie scowls like he might strangle him, but his voice is breathy when says, “Stroke it."

Archie arranges himself more comfortably, slouches down into his seat, spreads his legs. His cock pops offscreen and Reggie groans.

“Archie—"

"Relax," Archie says, adjusting webcam just as he gives his cock that first, first, toe-curling stroke. The camera back on his chest, his cock, Archie sighs. “Shit, Reggie, this is—"

"Shut up." Reggie cuts again, then adds, “Fucking stroke it for me, Andrews." His hand’s pale, his fingers long, as he circles the head of his cock with his fingertips, and not for the first time Archie imagines lapping at those fingers, sucking them into his mouth.

The words and thoughts send sparks up Archie’s spine. His fingers tingle as they drum up his length and he feels fucking crazy. “You like my cock," he murmurs. He doesn’t realize the words left him until he sees Reggie’s jaw drop just a bit, his lips forming a perfect 'O'. Instead of doing what Archie expects, though, he does something else entirely.

"Yeah," Reggie whispers, stroking down once, slow, then back up again, even slower. “Yeah, I fucking do."

"Would you—" Archie licks his lips and his hand falls into a familiar, twisting rhythm. “Would you suck it, Reggie? I mean, do you want to?"

Reggie’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Yeah," he says lower, something that Archie would have missed if his headphones weren’t on.

"Would you let me fuck your face?"

“Andrews—"

"Would you?"

"Yes," Reggie says like it pains him, his hand a white blur on Archie’s screen. “Fuck yes. I’d fucking choke on it. I’d—I’d fucking drool all over, it, Archie—"

"Shit, Reggie—"

"Wanna—Wanna fucking gag on your dick," Reggie slurs with what must be exhaustion. This is why Archie only calls when it’s ass o’clock on Reggie’s end, because Reggie crawls out of bed and smiles sleepily and whips out his cock without question. Reggie’s mouth hangs open as he works his dick, his tongue peeking out just the slightest bit. “Fucking want it, Andrews. Fucking want your dick in my mouth. Want it down my throat. Want it—”

A growl rattles in Archie’s chest, because, fuck, he wants it, too. Archie’s toes wriggle, tense, when he reaches down for his balls, thumbing over the skin of his sac. “You’d—You’d let me come all over your face? Your cheeks…” He groans when he spots the dark freckles in bloom on Reggie’s shoulders.

Reggie whines in his throat, teeth in his bottom lip. “Come in my mouth."

"Shit—You’d swallow?"

"Yeah—Yeah, I—Yeah—Yeah, fuck—fuck—"

"Wait!" Archie blurts, knowing what’s going to happen, what’s happening, from the way the muscles in Reggie’s stomach tense, from the way his balls draw up. “Wait—Camera—I wanna see—"

Reggie tilts the camera down, to where he pulls on his cock, nestled in wiry hairs.

"No—Your face—"

Reggie snarls, but then Archie’s screen fills with Reggie’s face, sweaty and scrunched up tight. It shoves Archie to the precipice, has him toeing the edge, but he’s not—he won’t—not before—

There’s a tight—“Archie!"—and then Reggie’s groaning, coming, and Archie tumbles after him, color exploding behind his eyes, with a grunt or two or three or four.

And it’s fucking good.

Archie lowers from his high gradually, is still in the haze of it when his eyes flutter back open, focus on his screen. Reggie stares, too, his chair shoved back so he fills the screen, head to lap. There’s this moment, oddly comfortable, and Archie says the only thing that makes sense with his hand, his boxers, his shirt, covered in semen.

"I love you."

Reggie’s brow knits.

"What?"

_…God, he’s an idiot._

He panics, racing for something to say to take it back, but his mind goes blank and Reggie looks confused and—

Reggie pops the earbud back into his ear. “What? What’d you say?"

Archie stares, blinks.

"Uh, would you consider this cheating?"

Reggie huffs and ends the call.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to Comment and leave Kudos if you liked this!


End file.
